


Catharsis

by Alexandria (heartfullofelves)



Series: X is for... [3]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M, Past Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones, Post-Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Pre-Janto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/pseuds/Alexandria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fire in his flat causes Ianto to begin the process of moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Torchwood fic! It's taken me a while to write and edit so I hope you like. Muchas gracias to ismolite over on ffn for beta-reading.

**catharsis**

/kəˈθɑːsɪs/

_noun_

  1.         The process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.



 

Near the end of Ianto’s first day back at Torchwood, his mobile rang. He’d spent the day keeping his head down, speaking even less than he had before the Lisa debacle and catering to the team’s caffeine requests in silence when he did interact with them, filing in the archives the rest of the time. By now he knew exactly how each of his colleagues preferred their tea or coffee and was able to move around relatively unnoticed, ignoring Gwen’s glares and Owen’s pointed looks. He had yet to look Jack in the eye, but Ianto would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now he kept his head down and stayed out of the way.

The medic had come in that morning and said, “You’re back, are you,” in a tone that suggested just how happy he was about that, while Gwen had given him a nod in acknowledgement. Even Tosh had barely glanced at him after a quiet greeting of, “Good morning, Ianto.” His team mates’ reactions to his return told him everything he needed to know: he had not been forgiven. And while he didn’t expect forgiveness, not this soon, it still hurt that they weren’t interested in putting things right. If things could go back to the way they were before Lisa had been discovered, then he would be happy. He just hoped that in time they would forgive him for his betrayal and perhaps even learn to trust him.

He looked at the phone’s caller ID and frowned - the call was from Elle Bevan, his neighbour. They’d never spoken on the phone before, but had each other’s number in case of emergency, and now he was almost sweating in anticipation. They’d never had a normal conversation before. Elle was a woman of few words; she wasn’t calling to chat. He pushed the green button to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Ianto? It’s Elle. You might want to get home right now.”

His frown deepened, if that were even possible. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s your apartment. There’s been a fire in your flat.”

 _“What?”_ Ianto was up out of his seat, grabbing his jacket and keys.

“An electrical fire, according to the smug young firemen,” said Elle. “Something to do with leaving your telly switched on. It’s not uncommon, they said. But you might want to come and see if you can salvage anything.”

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call and shoved his phone in his pocket, swearing out loud to himself.

“Alright, mate?” Owen asked with raised eyebrows, overhearing. “Spilt hot tea on your suit?”

“No, definitely not alright,” Ianto muttered, storming up to Jack’s office. He knocked impatiently and burst in without an answer. He ignored Gwen, who was holding a clipboard and talking to Jack, and said to his boss, “I need to go home early. There’s been an emergency at home.”

Under Jack’s answering stern gaze, Ianto shifted slightly, focussing on the top button of his boss’s shirt and not looking up. The thread was coming loose, he observed absentmindedly. He hoped he wouldn’t be the one to fix it. He didn’t think that sort of intimacy was allowed, after all he’d done.

“What sort of emergency?” Jack crossed his arms.

Ianto sighed inwardly. He should have known that he wouldn’t be given leave to go without a good reason. After his betrayal none of them trusted him, least of all Jack.

“A fire in my flat,” the Welshman answered. It was almost a mumble.

Jack nodded once, leaning back on his desk. “Go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ianto slammed the office door in his hurry to get out of there.

* * *

 

He found Elle waiting in the hallway outside what was left of his door, her face expressionless as always. She stepped aside to let him through. He took a couple of steps, then paused, turning to his neighbour for an explanation.

“I heard your smoke alarm go off, and since I knew you were at work I went in to check,” she said. To an outsider this would be considered strange, perhaps intrusive, but when Ianto had moved back to Cardiff and found this apartment, Elle had been very direct in making sure that they had the key to each other’s flat and put each other’s number in their phone. He couldn’t remember the exact reason for this, but he thought it was something to do with the accident his apartment’s last tenant had that had landed him in hospital.

“There was smoke and a horrible smell, so I called the fire brigade,” Elle continued. “They came in and put the fire out, which means the fire didn’t spread to the rest of the building, but it also means that a lot of your things are probably destroyed.”

“How come?”

“Well, the firefighters sprayed water and then foam to put out the fire, and, just between you and me, I think they were more interested in saving your flat than saving your belongings.”

“Shit,” he muttered, raising his eyes to a heaven he didn’t believe in. With a weary sigh, he thanked her for doing what she had done and told her that he would get on with sorting out his stuff.

“Don’t thank me; I was just doing my duty as your neighbour.” She opened her own door and had almost disappeared behind it when she turned back to him and said, “Good luck with the mess.” The door clicked shut.

Ianto took one look at the state of his lounge and wanted to yell in frustration. What was once an immaculate space was now the complete opposite, furniture out of place and with singe marks. His TV was destroyed. His sofa would have to be replaced. The carpet was in terrible condition and –

He stopped. His photos, of friends and family, were lying sopping wet on the floor. He picked up the closest one and choked back a sob. It was one of him and Lisa, taken on their one-year anniversary. He put it back down again and then, seeing that none of the photos could be saved, picked them all up and put them in a black rubbish bag. By doing so, he was putting Lisa in a rubbish bag.

After about an hour of examining his belongings and deciding which ones had survived and which had to be thrown out, he began to think about what this fire meant for him. With all his photos gone, he had no physical reminder of Lisa. He would remember her in memory, but he would never see her face again. She was gone. He didn’t expect that realisation to lift a heavy weight off his shoulders and make him feel lighter. But it did.

This was a strange sensation. It was as if he were actually – dare he say it – _moving on_. The Lisa he had known had died back in the Battle of Canary Wharf, and he should have grieved for her then, instead of trying to keep her alive in her half-converted state. Now she was gone for good and she wasn’t coming back. He swallowed. During his suspension from Torchwood he had used the time to grieve and now, finally, he was okay. There was nothing left to remind him of what he’d had with his girlfriend - his Lisa - and he’d had time to mourn her death.

He would be okay now, he told himself. Everything was going to be okay.

As much as analysing his emotions further might have been worthwhile, Ianto was ever the reasonable sort. Looking around the room, he couldn’t live there anymore. He would have to talk to his landlord and his insurance company and find somewhere else to live. But for now, he needed somewhere to sleep for the night.

He pulled out his mobile and was about to call his sister when he paused. Rhiannon’s council flat was already packed to capacity. He wouldn’t be allowed to stay with her, thanks to council regulations. He scrolled through the names on his phone, remembering who had friends and family already staying, who had no room for him, and who was abroad. He stopped at Gwen’s name for a second, then continued scrolling. Until he came to Jack’s.

His finger hovered over the green call button. _Shit, should I?_ he thought. _What if he rejects me?_ He could think of a million ways of how this could go wrong. But, he decided as he took a deep breath, he would play it cool and perhaps put the suggestion in his boss’s head without asking outright for what he needed. He hit call.

“Sir?” he asked in a small voice when Jack picked up. “I know I’m in no position to be asking for favours, but…”

“Yes, Ianto?” He thought he could hear a not so faint bit of impatience in his boss’s voice.

“My flat’s a wreck from the fire and I have nowhere to stay, so could you book me in to stay somewhere? I’ll pay from my own account, it’s just that everything is so disorganised right now and-”

“Come to the hub. You’ll be safer here if someone is trying to hurt you,” Jack reasoned. “Someone could be after you, if they started that fire at your place.”

Ianto closed his eyes in relief. The captain had walked right into that one. Not informing his boss of the real cause of the fire had turned out to work in his favour. A hotel would be nice, but after losing Lisa and his precious photos, he needed human contact. Even if that contact was with someone who despised him. He needed company and he needed to talk to someone.

“Are you sure, sir? I wouldn’t want to get in your way.” With just the right amount of feigned reluctance, he was winning the game.

“Don’t be stupid. Your safety is more important. And besides, we need to talk.” The captain’s voice sounded commanding, when in actual fact Ianto had manipulated the wording of his request so that he was in charge.

He gulped. They had already talked that morning, when he had had to convince Jack why he should be allowed to remain working for Torchwood. What else was there that they needed to talk about? It didn’t sound like Jack wanted to chat. Nodding and then realising that his boss couldn’t see him, Ianto agreed and hung up.

With an overnight bag he drove back to the hub and went in through the tourist office entrance, anticipating the conversation that Jack had said they needed to have. He kept that feeling inside, not letting it show on his face, as he went to find his boss.

“Evening,” he said, standing in the doorway to the captain’s office, hands in his pockets. “Thanks for letting me stay.” A pause. “Where exactly am I supposed to sleep? I know the building pretty well and as far as I know there are no beds, unless you expect me to sleep on the autopsy table…”

“You can sleep in my bed,” Jack replied. If there were a trace of flirtation in his tone, Ianto didn’t pick up on it. His eyes widened, but his boss added a hasty, “I don’t mean it like that. Young guys who betray me by hiding a half-converted Cyberman in my basement really aren’t my type. Even if they do have a gorgeous accent and look good in a suit.” Ah, _there_ was the flirtation.

“That’s just as well,” Ianto was quick to reply, his tone dry as always, “because loud-mouthed guys with American accents who kill my girlfriend really aren’t my type. Even if they do have a nice coat.”

Jack smiled, Ianto’s clue that they were even, and got up from his desk. He went over to the hatch that led to his cell-like room, then went through it. He started down the ladder, calling, “Coming?”

Ianto hoisted his overnight bag back onto his shoulder and followed his boss down the ladder and into the tiny room. He lowered his bag onto the floor and looked around, taking in the sparse space that Jack inhabited.

“It’s not much, is it?” murmured Jack. It was close to an apology, not that he’d designed the room himself. “Still, better than nothing.”

Ianto eyed the narrow bed with suspicious eyes. “Where are you going to sleep, sir?” It was a legitimate question; he didn’t think that Jack was going to sleep on the floor – Jack wasn’t that chivalrous.

The humour went out of Jack’s eyes and he crossed his arms. It was his way of shutting people off; they both knew it. “I don’t sleep.” Ianto didn’t question him any further.

“Anyway, make yourself at home. I’ll be around if you need me. Oh, and I’ll order some Thai for dinner, if you’re hungry?”

“Okay,” Ianto shrugged.

“Okay.” Jack climbed back up the ladder and into his office. He left the hatch open, knowing that the cell could make you feel claustrophobic when it was closed. The last thing his young employee needed right now was the sensation of walls closing in on him, what with all he’d gone through in the past few weeks. He sighed, running his hands through his hair before picking up the phone and dialling the Thai place.

Ianto sat down on the narrow bed and stared at the wall for a minute before picking up his mobile. He made a call to his landlord and then his insurance company, keeping his voice low as Jack would be able to hear him if he didn’t. It wasn’t as if the calls were personal, but he still felt uncomfortable knowing that his boss could listen in. After he’d hung up, he texted Rhiannon and told her what had happened. She called within moments to see if he was okay. He groaned. He’d walked right into that one.

Five minutes later and he was still pretending to listen to his sister talk about her life and what she was going to do in the weekend with her own family. When Jack’s head appeared at the hatch and announced that dinner had arrived, he shot his boss a grateful glance and made his excuses to Rhiannon before hanging up and throwing down his phone with an exasperated sigh. He joined Jack over on the ratty old couch, glad for the break.

“I can’t be bothered washing up, so let’s just eat out of the containers.”

Normally, Ianto would find the idea a little disgusting, but he was too exhausted to argue. “Sounds good to me.”

They ate in silence, Ianto concentrating on getting his chopsticks to work. Why they hadn’t been given forks he would never know. When he’d had enough of one dish he went to try the other. The taste of it made him freeze, and his eyes watered. But it wasn’t the chilli making him cry.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jack’s gentle voice made the tears flow even more.

Ianto didn’t say anything for a minute, but then he opened his mouth to speak. “The last time I had dinner with Lisa, this is what we had,” he choked out. “The day before Canary Wharf. It was the last time I saw her before she was partly converted.”

“Tell me about it. About your date,” Jack clarified. He had to get Ianto talking, not for his own interest, but because in his experience people needed someone to talk to after being traumatised. Having your girlfriend killed right in front of you was definitely traumatising, ergo it would make Ianto feel better if he talked.

Ianto put down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin before telling Jack about his last date with Lisa. Why he did so he had no idea, but getting the weight off his chest seemed to help. He told Jack about how he’d been late because he’d stopped to buy a necklace for her and that when he got to the restaurant she was almost in tears, thinking she had been stood up. He explained how it had been a disaster, that Lisa had tripped over a waiter on her way to the toilet and he had spilled his drink, staining his brand new jeans, and how his credit card had declined when he went to pay. He had driven his girlfriend back to her place and kissed her, told her he loved her, and gone home.

“The next day,” he said, picking up the chopsticks and fiddling with them, “was the Battle of Canary Wharf.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” said Jack. Ianto looked up into his eyes and held them for the first time in weeks. “But saying it will make it real, and I think that will give you closure.”

“You mean I’ll move on,” Ianto replied, but his voice wasn’t accusing.

Jack nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

Ianto took a deep breath and began. He talked about how the Cybermen had rounded up all the Torchwood One employees and begun converting them. He talked about the screams, the whirr of machinery, the clanking of metal tools, the sound of the Cybermen’s footsteps, and the horrific orders of the Daleks to “Exterminate”. He talked about how he had hidden but been found eventually, and put in line to be converted. He talked about how when it had all been over he had found Lisa’s half-converted body, begging for mercy.

Then he said, “She begged me to kill her, to end her pain. But I wouldn’t do it – I _couldn’t_ do it.” He sobbed, putting his head in his hands. His whole body shook. “I couldn’t do it,” he repeated.

He barely registered Jack’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the cell and the narrow bed. He didn’t notice when Jack removed his shoes, socks, and jacket for him and eased him onto the bed. He wasn’t even sure what he was crying over – the death of the girl he loved? The death of his colleagues? His own near-death experience? That he should have manned up and delivered Lisa a mercy blow to save them both the pain later? He had no idea how long he cried for, purging his emotions, and he had no idea that Jack stayed by his side the entire time.

When at last the tears stopped coming, he reached for his handkerchief and wiped his face clean. His breathing evened out and he became aware of Jack’s presence.

“Try and get some sleep now,” Jack murmured.

“Okay,” Ianto breathed. He settled down on his back and stared at the ceiling. Jack lay down beside him, half hanging off the bed. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Ianto stared at the ceiling, his breathing quiet now that he had finished crying. He was aware of Jack also lying there, not moving, and knew that if he turned his head he would see his boss staring up at the ceiling too. Neither moved, and neither said anything. It went on like that for what felt like hours, Ianto almost tasting the tension in the air. He concentrated on staying still and not allowing any signs of discomfort from being so close to someone to show.

“Good night,” he said again, a smirk twitching on the side of his mouth.

“Good night,” Jack chuckled.

Ianto closed his eyes and let sleep pull him under. At first his dreams were pleasant enough, but then he had a nightmare that he was drowning and someone kept pulling him under the water. When he looked to see who it was, it was Lisa as a Cyberwoman, laughing cruelly. He gasped, and more water went into his lungs. He woke up panting and bolted upright. When his breathing slowed to normal, he lay down again and went back to sleep.

This time he dreamt of a funeral for Lisa, where her family and friends – and Ianto – celebrated her short life and said goodbye. He dropped a single flower onto her coffin before it was buried, and hung his head in respect. The people around him cried, but he did not. He had already grieved. He was already beginning to move on.

In the morning, he woke feeling refreshed after the best sleep he’d had in weeks. Something was draped over his stomach, so his eyes travelled downwards to see what it was. Jack’s arm. It felt right, somehow. Made him feel safe. He looked over at his boss’s sleeping form and smiled. For someone who never slept, Jack looked pretty asleep to him. Ianto lay there and savoured the feeling of protection that Jack’s arm draped across him offered.

He was okay. He really was. For a time he had hit rock-bottom, but now? He was on the way up. And he could only get better.


End file.
